The Screening Room is one of the first places at which I read. From the start I could tell it was a friendly, welcoming place for those just starting out in poetry or sharing their work with the public for the first time. I asked Marek Phillip Parker, one of the current hosts (the other is Lynn Ciesielski) a little about the series. Fred: What year did the series start and who was hosting it at the time? Marek: I’m really not the best historian for the Screening Room Series, but as it has been shared to me, it was started shortly after the business opened about 21 years ago. The original host for most of its life was Rosemary Koethe. She hosted till her death. I would guess that that was for about 12 years or so. I don’t have the actual years and dates. At some point Verneice Turner shared or took over the hosting responsibilities, eventually to be joined by Marge Merrill. It seems that there were various co-hosts who would step in throughout the years. About seven years ago they invited me to share the hosting duties with the two of them. After a year, Verneice bowed out and it was just myself and Marge. About five years ago it became just me. I searched for a co-host, I even had a few people who accepted the invite, but then decided it wasn’t what they were looking for. We hit a real rough patch four years ago when I had my heart attack and bypass surgery. A few people stepped in while I recovered. I don’t really remember who all, as much of that time was a blur. Two years ago I invited Lynn Ciesielski to co-host with me and we have been alternating months since then. F: Not a bad group of Buffalo writers to have helping with the hosting duties. What day of the month are the readings held? M: The readings are held the third Wednesday of every month from 7:30 PM till 9:30 or 10 PM. The cost is still just $2. F: How can people find out about the readings? M: We post events, monthly on Facebook, Lynn sends out an email reminder which includes Bob Pohl, who places it in The Buffalo News. The series also has great word of mouth. Featured readers are also urged to share the event and promote some on their own. F: How did you get involved and how do you go about choosing your featured poets? M: Choosing poets is pretty random, in that there is no specific criteria. We pick people we know, have heard of, are regulars at The Screening Room, newbies with a growing voice. Fortunately, Lynn and I have different spheres of influence, we bring different readers and styles to the table. When I can, I try to mix it up, a younger, or sometimes spoken word poet with a more seasoned voice. I find that the Buffalo poetry community is very fractured by race, genre and age. I want Tom Dreitlein, a really strong, younger spoken word poet to hear and be heard by a seasoned reader, writer like Gary Earl Ross. Don’t get me wrong here, Tom is a seasoned reader and writer in his own right, but there is a generational gap in Buffalo. I think a lot of our poets don’t see the relevance of different styles of poetry or different aged voices on their artistry. It comes from both sides, there is respect between the ages but a reluctance to find commonality in their unique voices. For me, listening to a Loren Keller, Joyce, Kessell, Celeste Lawson or Bianca McGraw, Brandon Williamson or Ben Brindise all teach me something about myself and the art of poetry.
F: If you had a mission or a particular wish for the poetry/literary scene in Buffalo, what would that be? M: I would love to see Urban Epiphany return to the Buffalo scene. It’s an event reading and one that brings so many voices and styles together on the same day. Silo City is an attempt at this, but I feel you lose the focus when you have different poets reading at the same time, just 30 feet from each other. I’d rather hear/see us all together for the whole day. I love what Just Buffalo does with these events, but I still miss Urban Epiphany. My other mission would be to see the community become more diverse in issues of ethnicity and age at the individual readings. F: How important is poetry to you and how important to the community? M: How important is breathing? Poetry is life, like any other art form. It educates, informs, and entertains us. It tells us about our neighbors and ourselves! Sorry to sound so cliché, but I really do feel this to be true! F: Who are the owners of the venue and how was/is their support for poetry local or otherwise? Do they do things for other kinds of art/artists? M: The owner is Bob Golibersuch. He has been very supportive for the past 21 or so years. He is very understanding and supportive. I don’t think that they get enough recognition for what they do for the poetry and larger community. For a long time, there was also a Sunday series hosted by Bill Koethe (Rosemary’s husband.) I know that they have donated their space for socially minded groups. F: What got you interested in poetry and who are your biggest influences? M: I became interested in poetry as a means to express myself and deal with issues of life. There are many small influences, as a young kid it was Ogden Nash and Dr. Seuss, which is a very magical and poetic writing. A style I have struggled to develop is my written voice. As for a mentor, I would have to say Jimmie Gilliam was a huge influence on my developing my voice and rhythm. She was my instructor at the ECC City campus and had a huge impact on me as a writer and as a person. There are many poets/writers that I’ve admired. Some of them in the music world, Patti Smith, Sting, Suzanne Vega, to name a few. Essex Hemphill and Marlon Riggs informed much of my writing on self and sexuality. There are many local writers who I strive to be as good as. I won’t single anyone out because many different writers have impacted me. I feel that, to name a few, would be to exclude many.
,F: Do you think there is enough support for younger poets in town? M: I think that between the colleges, which have seen an explosion of traditional and spoken word, and the many different venues that we have, there is a great deal of support for young and older poets as well. You just need to reach out and there is a wonderful, supportive community out there. F: I know you have supported many causes on the national level, could you say a little about your involvement locally with movements supporting LGBTQ, environmental and peace organizations. M: Currently I work in homeless outreach at Lake Shore Behavioral Health. Through them, I have started and became chair of the LGBTQ Committee on Homelessness. We have developed training for agencies working with LGBTQ people, addressing issues of inclusiveness. (If anyone is interested in training contact me at 716-881-7230.) The committee hopes to pull together all of the pieces to start a short term housing facility for LGBTQ homeless. I have been involved in a number of social justice issues, sometimes deeply, sometimes very much on the edges. I work most specifically by how I live my life. I am greatly flawed and work hard to grow and change. I hope I show patience with others I encounter and work with. I think social justice will always have to be something that we work for. It will never just be given to us. From civil rights to marriage, these are things that we have to demand. In regards to the LGBTQ community, I have become much more active and am working to coordinate a Queer Themed day through Buffalo Infringement. F: I hear the venue is moving. Do you know to where and when? M: At this time, we do not have a firm date or place. All of that is in the works, but The Screening Room is waiting for it to go through all of the lawyers, etc, which will be needed to make sure all of the t’s are dotted and I’s crossed. (Yep, that was on purpose!) F: And how will it impact the series? M: Its impact will hopefully be that it will become even bigger and better than it currently is and that The Screening Room will be around for a long time to come. If you get the chance attend a reading this series offers. In the meantime, enjoy a few poems by its co-host Marek Phillip Parker. Poems by Marek Phillip ParkerMagpie
Grief stirs over lost memories, Piled high trinkets baubles, and yes Even Beads Hand written goodbyes Keys of scratched ebony and ivory a disabled peddle Books With photos Deeply ensconced With hope of reclamation Some distant tomorrow sifting through Yesterday’s footsteps With an eviction notice in hand I’m mourning memories Having filled every nook and cranny Every crevice, every corner Piles of possession Masquerading as Mementos strangle me Cutting off both breath and circulation As termination nears I create Piles of distinction justifying each items placement Then lamenting that decision In grief I have become a hoarder Not a collector Not an accumulator But a magpie Satiation is measured Through tally Having confused Quantity with quality My remembrances all sparkle Each My precious Returning to task at hand Diligence of my work masking anger And loss Denial has its place Only after the final box is taped Reframing attention My spirit is burdened With emotional Edits of life’s Assemblage I raise arms In exasperation Releasing 50 years of memories ----------------------------- Held for Too Long Sometimes it’s all right to want to kill the messenger your sister called me that Monday morning, some twenty years ago gossip on her tongue It was her voice a few years before which first whispered word of Gabe’s illness in my ear I was less prepared for that Monday’s call “Gabe died today…….. Wasn’t he a friend of yours?” She both announced and asked All at once I wanted to scream at her But all that came out was a breath of which I had held for too long Hearing but unable to listen I waited for a pause saying goodbye before she continued Hours later you called a declaration of contrition seeking to right your sisters faux pas and explain your own you stated It was your call meant for three days earlier that I should have received Gabe had been asking to see me But your preoccupations a boy friend a weekend visit out of town left that message undelivered With all of this acknowledged you then asked if I was all right I never found the words That could conceal my anger so I never answered you I knew that my thoughts steeped in honesty would be poison for both of us As I dwell on lost goodbyes I am reminded of the meeting which would serve as our valediction Gabe and I had a chance reunion in the Buff State quad It was just months before his passing thin and gaunt His face wore the ravages of death His arms burdened by books for courses he would never complete our conversation Was filled with hollow promises of Drinks to be poured laughs to be shared Both of us then knowing that Hallwalls’ Artists and Models Ball would now forever pass without our attendance So I sit here some twenty years later My anger just a quiet din of regret and I can finally tell you I wasn’t all right Published November/December 2009 Cherry Bleeds ----------------------------------- Listening Turn down that fucking music Angry loud Pounding thumping Assaulting my space Pushing aside voices of reason Voices of voices of voices of yesterday not sure if I want to drown them out or invite them back to nestle into my jumbled cranium you ask if I hear them knowing that we both do knowing that you control them knowing their origin power is held by those that can distract your objective incessant chatter not sure if it is inside or out it starts as a murmur and builds to an uncontrolled crescendo your whispers lustful wanton desirous of my soul exploitive of my libido Your words vibrate Like an engine revving Pressing upon the gas Peddle My spirit shakes Convulses ears begin to bleed Bright lights hurting my eyes body slams upon pavement Your drumming bass Pummels my bones My tight skin your snare Demanding silence I scream Your rhythmic beat Explodes into a wall of sound Wall of fury Still I listen Deciphering meaning Finding the messages Truths to To To and fro Back and forth I collapse Again Without having risen Bruised knuckles And jaw Expose earlier wounds With mirrored results But still They speak And I find That there is no external music The voices Have brought Accompaniment And My bloodied face Saturated with salty tears Weeps in defeat My soul sky swallowed
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